After
by Decadebaby
Summary: A one shot examining the aftermath of Iran.


Henry McCord ran his hand along the small of his wife's back. He kissed her cheek as the morning light flooded their bedroom. Neither one of them was looking forward to starting another long day. She stood at the open closet contemplating her clothes. Her pajamas were somewhat rumpled and he took the opportunity to pass a light touch over her deliciously soft skin. It was something he had been doing for a quarter of a century and yet he never tired of it. He loved the feel of the smoothness of her skin and the familiarity of her curves. He tried not to react when she flinched slightly under his touch as his finger brushed lightly over the unfamiliar territory of a scar. She took a short half-step away from him and cleared her throat self-consciously. He kept his face passive and unchanged, but truthfully, it wounded him.

"I'm running late." She said as she danced away from him, disappearing toward the bathroom.

"I'll get the coffee going." He said trying to keep his voice light, but he stayed where he was a beat too long. A shadow of sadness flashed over her features, and shame washed over him; she didn't need the added weight of guilt.

"I'm sorry, I . . ." She said, hovering hesitantly in the doorway of the bathroom.

"Hey, don't worry about it, Babe." He reached out and rubbed the side of her face with his fingertips. "You are right, it's late."

She nodded her head, a smile on her face, but he could see the shadow of pain in her eyes; the hint of uncertainty. He knew better than to say anything. She was right. It was late, and God knows they'd spent enough time fighting their way through the labyrinth of emotional scars left by Iran.

Iran - even the word made his stomach twist in knots. He could feel all over again the ice cold fear and panic as he waited and waited and waited and waited for the sweet sound of her voice.

He made his way downstairs, pausing just long enough to make sure that Jason had crawled out of bed. His son still hadn't quite adjusted to life back inside the classroom and much as he enjoyed life at Monroe, he did not enjoy waking up early.

It was never a problem to get either of the girls out of bed - Ali seemed to have adopted her mother's habit of never being still long enough to sleep, and sometimes it seemed that Stevie had never gone to bed. He had the distinct impression that she was just calling it a day, while the rest of them were just starting a new one. Of course Stevie had been home almost constantly lately. None of them had settled into a normal pattern of life since Elizabeth's return. He wondered if they ever would.

"Dad?" Ali's voice interrupted his thoughts. "Is it true you have to graduate high school to join the military?"

"You considering dropping out?" He asked, puzzled by the question.

"No." She laughed. "It's this stupid career choices project." She indicated the papers in her hand. "One of the guys in my group says it doesn't matter and you can just get your GED, but I thought you had to graduate."

"You do." He answered. "And if you want be an officer or go into special forces, they'll go to your school and talk to every teacher you had. They even want to read every detention slip."

"Well, my career choices just narrowed." Jason said wryly. He slid into a spot at the table.

"Well, you're still in 7th grade. Only high school counts." His father reassured him. "So there's still hope."

"Still hope for what?" Elizabeth asked as she stepped into the kitchen. She reached for a coffee mug.

"My military career." Jason explained.

"Oh, hell no." The sharpness of her tone made them all turn and look at her. She paled under their shocked stare. "I mean . . ."

Henry reached out, squeezing her arm. "She means you can accomplish anything you dream."

"In that case I wanna be a flying unicorn." Jason said with a laugh.

"I want to be a chocolate tester." Ali joined in.

"Well, I'll marry Channing Tatum." Stevie offered and even Elizabeth had to smile.

"What about you Dad? What's your dream career?" Jason asked.

"I'll get paid to read books."

"You already do." Stevie said rolling her eyes.

"I'll get paid to hang around your Mom then." He smiled at her, and she blushed slightly. It killed him whenever she blushed like that - they'd been married for twenty-five years and she still blushed whenever he paid her even the smallest compliment.

"What about you, Mom?" Ali asked.

"Me?" She raised an eyebrow. "World peace."

"Of course!" Jason said as they all shook their heads at her predictability, and he hoped that only he heard the desperate catch in her voice.

***MS***

Georgetown was perfectly collegiate. It was precisely the way he would have pictured his life as a professor to be - classrooms with giant windows that overlooked ancient oak trees, earnest young scholars and perfectly crisp fall days. It was perfect.

He stood at the front of the class, and was halfway through his lecture. It was one he'd given before and would no doubt give again in his lifetime. He felt a strange boredom settle over him. In a world filled with bombs targeting fathers of young boys, a simple lecture on the social impact of grace seemed insignificant. It was always a mistake to pause too long in a lecture - especially with freshman. Sure enough, as he paused, a hand shot in the air.

"Professor McCord?" He just loved the way freshmen just started speaking - never even waiting to be called on.

"Yes?"

"Your wife's the one who went to Iran, right?"

Henry exhaled. Loudly. "If you are with the press, I'm going to have to ask you to . . ."

"The press?" His brow wrinkled in confusion. "Nah, man. I just recognized the name and then it stuck with me because well your wife is kind of. . ." Here, he had the good sense to pause thoughtfully, considering his words."Well, I hope it doesn't offend you for me to say so, but she's really pretty." There was a general snicker from the room.

"My wife is unimaginably beautiful and not a part of this lecture." He didn't attempt to hide the level of rage he felt.

"Nah, bro, I didn't mean. . . Look you been having us read all this crap about grace and forgiveness, so I wondered about that whole, you know, situation. Does grace extend to them? You know, like, the bombers?"

Henry blinked several times, and pushed himself to focus on the kid's horrible grammar. He kept his thoughts away from the dangerous precipice of the question.

"Like the bombers?" He repeated, trying not to focus too much on the last word, or the memory of the feeling of a scar marring her skin. "As opposed to the actual bombers?"

"Whatever. I was just thinking, man." It was clear Henry's reaction had hurt his feelings.

"Tell me about your family." Henry continued angrily. "Anyone in your family been attacked or killed? Anyone beat up your mom or little sister?"

"What? I wouldn't. . . How can you ask that stuff about my . . . I thought we were talking about grace?" The kid was clearly distraught now and the class uncomfortable.

"Me too." Henry struggled to tamp down his rage. "You're the one trying to derail us by bringing up our personal lives." He drew in a deep breath. "But I'll extend you some grace, and let you stay with the expectation that you can keep your damn mouth shut. Otherwise, I'll toss you out on your ass." The boy's face was white with shock, but he nodded with wide, frightened eyes. "Never, ever talk about my wife, got it?"

The rest of the lecture was flat and the room uncomfortably silent. When the hour ended the students fled the room like rats abandoning a sinking ship. Henry didn't blame them. He grabbed his bag, and crossed the campus grateful that it was his last lecture of the day. He only had to endure a department meeting and office hours before he could return to the safety of home.

***MS***

"What's this about you handing some freshman from California his ass this morning?" His friend, Paul asked.

"Oh, God." Henry said setting aside his fork and rubbing his face with his hand. They were eating lunch at a small restaurant just on the edge of campus. Paul taught physics but despite this, he and Henry were friends.

"Oh, it's all over campus!" Paul said laughing. "The stories are ridiculous! Did you punch the kid and is it true he tried to ask if he could date Elizabeth?"

"I'm going to hear about this at the department meeting." Henry slumped in his chair. "I didn't hit him. He was just being a pompous jackass and tried to ask personal questions about her and Iran. I guess I kind of lost my temper."

"Don't worry about it. They probably won't say a word about it. No one is going to touch that hornet's nest. You could probably get away with a lot right now. She single-handedly saved the world from nuclear disaster."

"Yeah." Henry agreed, pushing aside his plate, suddenly no longer hungry. "It's a beautiful heroic story with a happy ending."

"Hey, Henry," Paul's face furrowed in concern. "I didn't mean to . . ."

"Don't worry about it." Henry shook his head. "It's just a little raw right now. I gotta go. He tossed some money on the table leaving a bewildered Paul behind.

***MS***

In the old days, they'd meet up for lunch or a coffee between classes. He missed being on the same campus as her. He missed sneaking in to sit in the back of the hall as she lectured, and watching her face change as she got fired-up as she taught. He missed the simplicity of those days.

It wasn't like their lives had never been complicated. Her years in The Company had been fraught with complexity. The Company line being that she had been just an analyst - not ever an operative - as if those two things were separate entities. And it wasn't as if his time with NSA hadn't added a layer of complications. But becoming Secretary of State had turned out to be far more difficult than he ever imagined. Before she had the job, when he'd thought about it, he'd focused on the long hours and the travel. He worried about what that time apart would do to them and to the kids; would it reshape the surface of their family?

Both he and Elizabeth were fiercely devoted to their "little house" which is what she always jokingly called the family. At the time she started saying it they were living on the ridiculously huge horse farm, so it was particularly ironic. It was a jab at him too. They had grown up in two very different worlds and he loved to tease her about growing up in the manor. "So, who packed your lunches, babe?" He would tease. "Was it cook?" It always made her laugh. God, how he loved the sound of her laugh. He'd do just about anything to hear the sound of her laughing, especially now.

He hadn't considered how hard actually running the state department would be for Elizabeth; how much it would cost. Which was just a stupid lack of thinking on his part. He knew her. She never did anything halfway. Of course negotiations would eat at her. Of course threats would keep her up at night. Of course she would want to go there herself, in person, and fix it. Of course she would go to the house of Minister Javani in Iran and tell him in person about the coup. No phone call; no email; no half-measures.

_"Fred was on top of me." _That one sentence had haunted him night and day. It was always just below the surface of his thoughts. It carried with it the weight and reality of the horror she had witnessed. He could picture it- her helpless surrounded by gunfire, pinned to the floor by the dead body of the man sworn to protect her. And he knew that the only way Fred ended up dead on top of her, was if he'd pushed her down - as bullets rained down. He took bullets that would've killed her._ "Fred was on top of me."_ It hurt him to think that this memory lived inside her - that it was a part of her now.

It wasn't like he hadn't been briefed. Russell himself had called. After the girls had finally gone to bed to get some sleep, and he had finally managed to get his emotions under control, Russell had called. "Let me fill you in," he'd said matter of factly, but it had been very difficult to focus on the words once he'd said gunfire. It was impossible after he'd said that Fred was dead. Fred Cole was a good agent and always closest to Elizabeth. If he were dead . . .

She had told him a simplified version of the story when she'd first got home. She was tense and edgy and he'd wanted nothing more than to hold on to her for the next four million days so he hadn't pressed or asked any questions. He clung to the sound of her voice and the realness of her back in his arms. "Later" He told himself "We can talk about it later". But later never came as she'd plunged into work, and he was left to watch her slowly disintegrate. It had been the most exhaustingly, painful struggle of his life. She was suffering, and he couldn't help. He had to watch and wait.

The therapist helped, a lot and not just her either. He'd come to realize that Iran had left its marks on him, too. So their complicated schedule now included trips to a therapists office - sometimes apart and sometimes together. And she was doing better; she was sleeping and eating. If she had a flashback, she told him about it and didn't hide it. They were slowly learning what things triggered her and sent her spiraling backward in time to that horrible night.

The kids had been surprisingly understanding. It made him realize how grown they truly were. Both Ali and Stevie were so thoughtful and gentle around their mother, that it brought tears to his eyes to even think of it. Right before her big panic attack, Ali had asked Elizabeth to sign some paper for school but she must have startled her because Elizabeth uncharacteristically snapped at Ali. Ali accepted Elizabeth's barrage with large eyes and said softly, "Ok, sorry Mama" when it was over and quietly went up to her room.

It was the "mama" that did him in and he had been opening his mouth to light in to Elizabeth when she'd lifted a hand to her face and said, "Oh, God! What did I just . . ." And she'd run upstairs to hunt down Alison.

He'd checked on Ali later, of course. She'd been at her desk doing homework. The lamplight making pretty shadows over her face, as she scratched away at some geometry problems.

"Hey, Noodle." He'd said leaning in the doorway.

"It's okay, Dad. She apologized." Ali said without looking up.

"I know but still. It's hurtful." He said gently, stunned at how completely conflicted he felt - torn between his sweet daughter and his wounded wife.

Ali turned to face him with giant brown eyes that were filled with tears. "She's hurt." Ali whispered. "Iran hurt her."

"Yes." The word burst out of him and he knelt beside her chair wrapping his arms around his daughter. Ali clung to him, burying her face in his shoulder. He wanted to tell her that everything was going to be alright. He wanted to reassure her, but at that time he felt lost and bewildered, so he said nothing and it was Ali who reassured him.

"She'll be okay." She said softly. "You can fix it. You can always fix it together,"

And in his whole life he'd never wished more for something to be true; if only his love could fix everything for Elizabeth.

***MS***

He was the first one home. Instead of working on his book or starting dinner, he wandered around the house, restless. He tried to remember her schedule for the day but only remembered something about late meetings. He reached for his phone.

_Hey, babe! How's it going? Got any spare_

_minutes? I'm free._

He didn't expect an immediate response. She was busy all the time, but his phone buzzed a few minutes later.

_I'm between meetings. Rawlings Park? _

_Or too cold? The office is crazy._

Stopping by her office never really worked. Her staff was always hovering nearby and she couldn't relax. The park was close and easier. They could just be the two of them and if they ignored the agents - it felt like they were alone.

_Park. In ten? Love you._

He grabbed his peacoat and gloves and headed out. She was easy to spot - the crowd of agents around her. His eyes flicked through their faces - too many of them new - replacing the familiar ones they'd lost.

"Hey, babe!" He said greeting her with a hug. "You aren't too cold?"

She squeezed his shoulder. "No. I'm fine." She took hold of his hand and they walked together. "How was school?"

"Oh, fine." He waved a hand dismissively. "Things okay with you? How are the negotiations?"

"Complicated." She said with a shrug. "Stressful." He squeezed her fingers as she said this. "But I haven't been rushed to the ER with an imagined heart attack so that's good news." She laughed.

It didn't take a degree in psychology to recognize that negotiating a summit with Iran might be a trigger for her, but she seemed okay. He suddenly recognized why he might have snapped at that helpless, stupid freshman.

"Still," He offered with a wink. "It would be a good way to sneak in a break." He raised an eyebrow at her.

"Henry!" But she laughed - a real deep throaty laugh which flooded his heart with joy. "So," she said, sobering. "You chewed out some kid who asked about me?"

"Did Paul call you? God! It's no big deal and the kid was an insensitive jackass!"

"Paul? No. Stevie heard about it. It's all over campus." She stopped walking and faced him. "You okay? It isn't like you to snap like that."

"I guess thinking about you in negotiations bothered me more than I thought." He shrugged his shoulders. "It's okay, babe. I'll apologize to him."

"I don't care about him!" She reached out putting her hands on his arms. "I understand why you are worried but I'm really doing okay, Henry. I skyped a session in earlier and even took my meds."

He smiled at her too pleased at her choice to get help with her stresses to focus on his own trouble. "Really? You took your meds and no one had to sit on your chest and hold you down?"

She laughed at this. "I know. Progress, right?" She let go his arm and they resumed their walk. "Or me willingly taking a Xanax is a sign of how truly screwed up I am."

He caught her hand in his, squeezing her fingers reassuringly. "Baby, you are perfect. It this town that's screwed up."

"And you don't get to change the subject. What about the kid?"

"I don't know. He wanted to know if my concepts of grace and forgiveness extends to those . . . across the ocean to those coup leaders." He edited what he'd almost said, recognizing that he was a lot more upset than he'd realized. His voice grew dark and heated.

"Henry. . ." She stopped walking again, but he didn't move to face her. Instead he kept his face down, his body turned slightly from hers.

"Maybe we should talk about something else?" He asked.

"That always works." She said wryly. She glanced around at the agents. "Maybe you should call . . ."

"I just . . ." He sighed, but then turned to face her. "I"ll see if she can squeeze in a session, okay? If that makes you feel better." He recognized the last sentence was pretty stupid, but she didn't say anything about it, and he was immediately hit with guilt at her sweetness.

"I wish I didn't have to work so late." She said glancing at her watch. "I probably should head back."

"Don't worry, babe. I'll still be home when you get there." He grinned at her, and she pulled him in for a hug. He kept his arms tight around her, kissing her for as long as she'd let him. Opening his eyes he laughed at the sight of every agent with their faces turned away from the two of them.

"I'll see you later." She said softly, her fingers still holding onto his.

"Love you, babe." He stood where he was watching her walk away. The agents were close around her, so as soon as she got a few feet from him, he could only see the top of her head. He sighed feeling an ache that he couldn't quite explain. But even as he turned to walk toward home he thought of the answer to the freshman's question. _"No, I've no grace; no forgiveness for them. They can rot in hell for all of time and it still won't be enough."_

***MS***

"Is Mom coming home for dinner?" Jason asked.

"I don't think so." Henry answered as he set a plate on the table. "She's got a lot of meetings today."

"Where's Noodle?" He glanced around.

"Upstairs." Jason said glancing up from the phone is hand.

"Lose the phone and get your sister. Dinner's ready."

It never felt right when it was just the three of them for dinner. He had tried to adjust to it. It reminded him too much of when she was with the CIA. He only half listened to their banter, and picked at the food on his plate.

"Dad?" He looked up surprised to find Alison standing beside him. "Are you finished?"

"What? Yeah, sorry."

"Listen I appreciate the whole thing where you and Mom actually love each other - I mean, when I got to Isla's house and hear the way her parents fight." Alison shook her head. "But you moping around the house when she's gone wears a girl down." She smiled at him. "Don't you like_ us_ at all?"

He laughed and rising from the table wrapped his arms around her in a tight bear hug, lifting her off the ground as she screamed.

"Nope. I can't stand you!" He said kissing her cheek over and over, until she finally wriggled free, pushing him away.

"You are deranged." She said laughing.

"Not happy when I'm laughing. Not happy when I'm sighing." He said shaking his head. "Did you ever consider that you might be impossible to please?"

"Can I answer that?" Jason asked.

"No." He and Alison said in unison.

They spent the evening in the front room. He and Jason played video games while Alison did the rest of her homework at the table behind them. She would sigh and complain from time to time about the noise, but never moved upstairs. They'd been playing for awhile when suddenly Henry turned to Jason, "Hey, don't you have homework too?"

"What?" Jason said in mock surprise. "Homework?"

"Jason!" Henry admonished, immediately shutting off the game. "Homework."

He'd gone to the study to retrieve his notes, but found he couldn't concentrate. For some reason, he'd been struggling with his book lately. He'd written a half page since Elizabeth's return. At first, or course, he hadn't the time or the energy - he'd been watching her closely - waiting. And then later, after the panic attack, he'd been even more preoccupied - never really wanting to be too far from her; always wanting to be close enough to know that she was okay. But if he were really honest, he found himself questioning the old words that had always brought him comfort. His heart was filled with questions - most of which began with why.

He sat up for a long time after they'd gone to bed. First he cleaned up the kitchen and the living room, and then he sat on the couch. His book was in his hand, but he wasn't reading. He was waiting. Stevie came in, close to eleven and he'd sat at the kitchen table talking with her about her day. She ate a bowl of cereal and then disappeared upstairs. He followed her up, out of habit more than anything else, and he puttered around the bedroom, finally settling in the chaise lounge. He picked up the newspaper which had been left abandoned since the morning. His eyes flicked over the page, and landed on a picture of Elizabeth. Ever since she'd done Face the Nation, she'd been in the paper almost daily. She was America's sweetheart, deservedly so. Paul was right. She _had_ single-handedly prevented all out war with Iran. If she never did anything else for the rest of her career, that would be more than enough.

He studied the picture focusing on the clothes she was wearing. It must have been a picture from earlier in the week. She was walking and had her hand lifted in a wave, a smile on her face. "Madam Secretary is All Smiles" was the headline, and it went on to discuss the upcoming negotiations with Iran. He looked closer at the picture and realized that someone had snapped it just a few blocks from their house. He remembered the day now. He and Jason had been out at the park, and had happened up the street just about the same time she'd turned the corner. The wave was for them. He tossed the paper aside, annoyed with the ridiculous spotlight that seemed to be fixed on her lately. She never seemed to catch a break - everyone was always watching her every move; their every move.

He finally climbed into bed around 12:30 a.m. recognizing that getting up in the morning was going to be difficult if he didn't but he wasn't sleepy. He reached over lifting a book from the nightstand and fell asleep reading. When he woke up around two, she was curled in bed beside him, and seeing her there, he exhaled relieved. He scooted closer to her, comforted.

"Henry?" Her voice was heavy with sleep.

"Are you expecting someone else?" He asked her with a laugh.

"I thought you were asleep." She whispered, turning toward him.

"I was, but then I woke up and saw this gorgeous girl lying next to me." He leaned closer, kissing her.

"You were dreaming then?" She said laughing. "Because all you've got is an exhausted mother of three nearly grown children."

"And savior of the free world." He said without thinking, and he hated himself when her entire body stiffened. She rolled over onto her back, away from him.

"Hey, that's not . . ." She said, rubbing her temple. "C'mon, Henry."

He sat up on his elbow, looking down at her. "I'm sorry, babe. I don't know why I said that."

He reached out with his fingers, and rubbed his hand along her cheek. "Baby, I'm sorry."

"No." She said dropping the hand from her forehead. "It's fine." But all warmth was extinguished between them, and he wanted to kick himself. "I'm tired." She said rolling over onto her side; away from him.

Sleep was impossible after that. He went downstairs, ostensibly to write, but of course he couldn't. He stared at the half-written page, a glass of whiskey to his left, trying to even construct a simple sentence.

***MS***

It was nearly 4:30 in the morning when she came downstairs looking for him. She said nothing, but sank down into the armchair across from his desk. She looked ridiculously adorable in his old marine t-shirt and a pair of flannel pajama bottoms. She sat with one leg tucked up under her.

"Are we switching roles now?" She asked him.

"No. It's nothing like that." He leaned back in his chair. "I'm sorry about what I said. It was stupid."

"A little sick of being married to America's beloved darling?" She asked with a wry grin.

"Never sick of being married to you." He said quickly, fiercely.

She glanced at the computer screen. "Why aren't you writing?"

His shoulders slumped, and he leaned back in his chair, his eyes on the ceiling.

"Henry?" He could hear the concern in her voice. "C'mon, talk to me. Is this about the other night?"

"No." He responded immediately and firmly. "That isn't anything for you to worry about. I told you that and I meant it, baby. Stop obsessing."

"I just feel so . . ."

"It was understandable. Knock it off." He leaned forward toward her, his elbows on his knees. "Babe, look at me. You are more important than _anything_. I care about you - all of you. You know what the doctor said - we'll get it all straightened out eventually. I can wait until then."

"It isn't fair." She said softly.

"Neither was you getting . . ." But he wasn't able to finish his sentence.

***MS***

The "other night" had started out really good. She'd been home at a reasonable hour, and they'd both had good days - nothing too stressful - no interruptions from obnoxious reporters trying to get a story. It was a wonderfully ordinary day. Ali had a soccer game, which she'd won, so she was lit up with happiness. They had all laughed around the dinner table - he couldn't remember why now, but he remember how good it felt to all be laughing together. They'd washed the dishes together - by hand. They never used the dishwasher. When they were first married they hadn't had one, and then later after they'd had one, and Stevie was seven she'd gotten on a save the earth kick - lecturing them about wasted water. She was a surprisingly stubborn first grader, and so he had found himself standing at the sink again - washing dishes with Liz. But in the end, he discovered that he treasure that time together when she was home. It was still true all these years later. He loved standing at the sink with her. They'd talked together as they washed - ordinary, everyday life time together kind of stuff. She'd leaned against him, bumping her hip against his, and he thought it was a signal.

Later in bed, he was convinced he was right. She'd wrapped her arms around him, kissing him. He was so caught up in the moment - happy that she was so happy and that they'd had such a good day. The fact that sex might follow seemed too good to be true, and yet here she was in his arms, clearly willing.

"You sure?" He'd whispered, which in hindsight wasn't very romantic, but he was careful with her - didn't want to push her too far - she was fragile still.

"Don't be a goof." She'd teased.

"I just didn't want to . . ." He tried to explain lamely.

"It's like college all over again." She said laughing, but leaned into his arms kissing him deeply.

He was so perfectly, deeply happy. _"Everything is going to be fine again." _ was the stupid thought that flitted through his stupid brain. And then he shifted so that his weight was on top of her, and all hell broke loose. He didn't know she was that strong. The next thing he knew, he was thrown back out of the bed.

"Get off!" Her voice frightened and angry, as she lept out of bed, staggering backwards, stumbling until she landed on the ground, her breathing ragged.

It took him a full minute to realize what had happened. She had pushed him so hard, that he had actually hit his head on the floor. He should have known better. He could hear her breathing hard from across the room. He staggered upward, launching himself over the bed, and sliding to the floor in front of her.

"Easy, Lizzy, c'mon. Breathe. You can do it. Focus on just breathing." She looked so small and helpless.

"I'm . . . oh, God . . . I . . . Henry? . . ." She gasped out.

"Stop talking. Just breathe. C'mon. You can do it, darlin'. In and out."

It had taken nearly thirty minutes to get her breathing under control and then she had sobbed. He'd lifted her gently, settling her back in bed. He'd gone and found her medicine and handed her, her pills. She'd taken them without argument - a first. Then he'd slid in bed behind her, wrapping his arms around her as she lay back against his chest.

"Henry, I'm so, so sorry."

"I'm fine. It's alright, baby. I'm sorry. I should have thought about it. It's okay." He'd kissed her cheek. "Go to sleep. You must be exhausted."

He could tell from her breathing that she was still crying and he felt physically ill that something that had always been so easy for them, caused her such tremendous fear. He felt horrible that he had hurt her. He knew better. He wasn't stupid. She'd told him, _"Fred was on top of me."_

"Fred was taller than you." She'd whispered softly. "And heavier." There was a catch in her throat. "I couldn't . . . I couldn't push him off. I really couldn't. I was trapped, and I couldn't do anything about it. I was pinned down and I needed to get away - to get to Abdul and get out of there. I was so scared and . . ." She drew in a ragged, shuddering breath. "When Javani's security finally got to us, it took two men to get Fred off me."

"I'm sorry, sweetheart. I'm sorry." He choked on a sob. "I'd never, ever . . ."

"I'm the one who is sorry! I didn't expect that! All of the sudden it just . . ."

"Lizzy, go to sleep." There were no words he could say to her, to undo the memory. There was no cure for the way it made her feel to have his own weight pressing down on her. There was nothing he could do. He was just as helpless as she had been and it filled him with grief.

All in all, it had been a horrible, horrible night.

***MS***

"So, what is it? You aren't writing. And you aren't sleeping all that well. Henry, I'm worried." She unfolded herself from the chair to lean forward.

"I know. I'm just . . ." He leaned back sighing. "Babe, it's going to be okay. I just need a little time, ok?"

She studied him thoughtfully and then rose and crossed to where he sat. She stood in front of him and crouching low in front of his chair putting her hands on his shoulders.

"You can talk to me. I know I haven't given you reason for confidence lately, but you can talk to me. I can handle it. I'm not going to flip out on you. This is ours. We own it together just like everything else."

"No, I don't wanna. . ." He swallowed hard, looking up into her face. "You've got enough to manage and I'm really okay. I guess reading about all your negotiations with . . . Look, sweetheart, let's just leave it alone, okay?"

"So we can rush _you_ to the hospital? No, honey. Talk to me."

He sighed, shaking his head at her. "You are so damn stubborn, baby! Why do you have to always push?" He blinked back tears but pulled her closer so she sat on his lap, her arms around him. "I just keep seeing it when I close my eyes." He said softly. "I can picture you there with Fred . . ." He swallowed hard. "It's making me crazy, baby. You didn't want to go. You were scared. You said as much right before you left, and I just let you walk out the door. I keep thinking about how you . . . I should've pulled you back inside and made you stay."

"We'd be at war. There would have been no way around it. No one would be safe."

"I know and that's great logic, but I don't care about logic when it comes to you." He rubbed a hand over his face. "And every day there's another story about it - them praising you as the Great Hero of America. But they don't care what it cost you."

"But, I'm going to be okay, Henry." She emphasized each word. "I am ok, and you and I are good, right?"

"Yes." He pulled her tighter to him for emphasis. "You and I are good."

"But you haven't explained the writing. Is it just stress making it hard to focus?"

He shook his head, unable to respond.

"Henry, you are a man of faith. It is who you are. You should talk to Father Bryan if you are struggling. What happened to me was hard but the world has always been filled with . . . You saw worse in desert storm."

"Desert Storm didn't involve watching my best friend's heart get ripped to shreds or trying to comfort our girls while they waited to hear if you were alive or not." He confessed softly. "It didn't involve watching you slowly deteriorate from anguish and heartbreak. It didn't lead to you flinching at my touch because my finger ran across a scar."

"This is about that?" Her eyes grew big and she slid off his lap.

"No. It's just part of it. It's more than that. It's," He sighed again, looking up at her. "It's everything. You can see it too, baby? Right? You aren't stupid. Hell, I don't know anyone smart as you! And I spend my days studying the greatest thinkers of all time!"

"What are you talking about?" She took a half step back.

"The Presidency, babe! You know it's what they want! They are going to start whispering in your ear if they haven't already!"

"Henry, no, I would have . . ."

"And they'll know just what to say to you! America's hero! Trusted world leader and known for integrity! God dammit, Liz! Even_ I _think you'd be goddamn perfect at it!"

"I don't want to be President?" She shook her head at him, her voice a shocked whisper. "I don't want to be Secretary of State!"

"No, but you are! And it's cost too damn much! How can they expect more from you? Why? Why are we expected to sacrifice over and over? Is this the price for all our good fortune? It's too high!"

"Hey, shhh! Henry, it's okay. Calm down." She stood in front of him, her hands rubbing soft circles on his back. "We can manage whatever comes our way. And these hard days will be behind us. You know that. We've fought our way through tough days before."

"Not like this." He whispered. "I never would've said yes to Conrad if I had known what it would do to you. Never."

"Neither would I! But that isn't how it works! And right now it's easy to focus on the bad parts, but there is good to it, too."

"What?" He asked. "Tell me one damn good thing!"

"I was restless! You know that Henry. You'd been pushing me for years to find something."

"This wasn't what I had in mind." He exhaled pulling her tight against him. "I just can't bare the thought of what it will do to you and I know I can't stop it from happening any more than I can stop you from walking out that door and heading to Iran. I can't keep you from yourself. I understand that. You are going to do what you will do."

"I would never make the kind of decision without you! You know that!"

"What decision? Like we decided to be here?" He stepped away from her. "And I get it. It's the life we signed up for - we chose to serve and to be responsible for our world. But baby, I'm not okay with the ways it hurts you. I'm not. And I'm never going to be." He stood leaning against his desk.

She crossed to where he stood and took his hands in hers. "You are such a good man, Henry. I can't believe how patient you've been especially when I was spending all that time screaming at you. And if you weren't here with me, I'd probably have had an actual heart attack or some psychotic break."

"No, you _are_ tougher than a Navy SEAL. You'd have found your strength."

"Henry," she stepped closer. "They are never going to ask me to run. I screamed at Minister Chen and was rushed to the hospital for a panic attack! I've got a prescription for Xanax and see a psychiatrist twice a week! They won't ask me."

"They will." He argued. "And you will win. Hell! I'd vote for you and I know you cheat at Scrabble and only pretend to like vegetables."

He rubbed his face with his hands and glanced at the window. The sun was just beginning to rise spreading a pearly light through the front window. She followed his line of sight, and stepped into his arms.

"The sun is coming up." She said softly. "Like it always does."

He laughed at this. He used to tell her that all the time - especially when the kids were small and she was consumed with worry over their stresses.

"And you and I are here together." He whispered into her hair.

"Like we always will be." She said, the words reverberating in his chest, and he felt himself relax in her arms. "Cancel your classes today. Get some sleep. I've got a break around two, we can catch a late lunch."

"Sounds tempting. Too bad you can't cancel state business and stay home with me!"

"Oh, God! I wish!" She said. "I'm not going to argue with you, Henry. This job has some pretty intense downsides."

"Tell me about it!" He laughed, and then leaning in kissed her. They kissed for a long time and he recognized they were headed toward dangerous territory. He broke away from her breathless.

"I better . . ."

"Take me upstairs." She whispered breathlessly. And seeing his hesitation, she kissed him again. "Henry?"

"Well," He said with a grin. "You are probably going to be the leader of the free world. I'm obligated to do as you command."

He lifted her easily. She was far too light. He prayed the kids would stay in their rooms as he carried her down the hall to their room. He laid her gently in the bed. He was careful and completely aware of her every movement. It kept him tense and stressed.

"Relax, professor." She finally whispered. "You know what you're doing. You are good at this, remember?"

"Right." He said laughing and relaxing under the comforting touch of her embrace.

***MS***

"And how do you feel about it now?" The doctor settled back in her chair.

"It's an impossible situation. Liz is going to do what she's going to do. It's always been that way."

"But?"

"I don't know. The stakes are higher, I guess. It highlights everything - that she's never really safe and I'm not just talking physically. I mean other than marching straight into a coup, I actually feel that she's got pretty solid protection. But there aren't any agents to protect her spirit; her heart."

"And it needs protecting?"

"When is the last time you talked to someone in this town who was hopeful? Who was a believer?" He sighed. "It's hard not to worry."

"But you already said it Henry. She's going to do what she's going to do. She's not a child."

"I know that."

"You either take her as she is or . . ."

"Look, I understand all of this on an intellectual level but it's different when your wife can't sleep at night because she's tortured by memories so horrible it took weeks and medication to get her to tell you about it." He let out a shuddering breath. "I love her."

"You do." The doctor agreed. "Honestly, you two have the most solid relationship that's ever walked in this office. The PTSD alone destroys strong relationships. Your patience is fairly impressive."

"What was I supposed to do? Bail on her? She was suffering. She was in pain!"

"So were you." She offered.

"Yeah." He ran a hand over his face. "And it is better, for both of us. But it won't ever go away. It's part of her now; of us."

"Its okay to grieve, Henry. You've experienced loss. Just because she came home to you alive doesn't mean there wasn't loss. You both need to grieve."

"Yeah." He managed weakly.

"And about the rest," she continued. "Questioning is part of faith, isn't it? It's okay to doubt. I'm sure you know this."

"I just hadn't experienced it. It's unsettling."

"It is." She agreed.

"Still, a tree that is bent in a storm builds stronger roots, right?"

"See, you are quoting again." She smiled. "Hope is already there inside you."

***MS***

He brought Chinese to the office, knowing it wouldn't be the world's most relaxing lunch, but was better than nothing. Blake greeted him with a wide smile.

"Dr. McCord. It's good to see you." Blake's smile was genuine, as was his loyalty and concern for Elizabeth. It was Blake who'd called him during the heart attack scare - his voice high and worried. He'd called Blake after she'd called him from inside her office, crying and frightened. The young assistant hadn't hesitated to come up with a plan to sneak her out of the office with a minimum of embarrassment. The kid had stood with a hand under her arm, waiting as Henry had come to get her.

"Blake, there's a rumor that she's got time to eat today."

"I know. It must have been a scheduling error." Blake winked at him. "Go on in, or would you prefer I announce your arrival."

"Did you bring your trumpet?" He asked laughing. "That's okay, I'll introduce myself."

"Yes, sir. Her next appointment is at 3:15 so I'll buzz her office around 3:00?"

"Perfect. Keep the jackals at bay, would you?"

"Yes, sir. I serve at the pleasure . . ."

"Of the President." Henry said laughing. "You know he'd keep her working twenty-four/seven."

"I serve at the pleasure of the Secretary of State, but I'd appreciate it if you didn't mention it to the President. He's got other ideas."

Henry nodded his head and strode into her office. She was sitting at her desk with her eyes closed. He cleared his throat, hoping not to startle her. Her eyes flicked open.

"Henry!" She smiled, rising and crossing to him. "Blake didn't tell me you were here."

"I used tradecraft and snuck past him." He grinned at her. "Chinese?"

"Oh, God! I'm starved. I swear no one eats but me! No one even considers stopping for lunch. These people are crazy."

"Well, I've been telling you this for a while now." He said setting the food on the desk and settling into the chair across from her. "You and I should ditch this crazy town, and sneak off to some island where you can't eat all day long if you want."

"Oh, sure. Then I weigh 800 lbs! It's your grand plan to fatten me up."

"You could use fattening." He passed her a plate. "So, tell me about your day."

"Oh, God, do I have to? It's bad enough that I sat through all those meetings once - now I've got to rehash it! Did you know that I had to promise that we would consider a campaign to promote the use of coconut from Bali only. I mean really. You know how many years I went to school? And now I'm promoting coconuts to the American public?" She shook her head, taking a bite of the food. "What about you? Did you sleep in?"

He found himself falling comfortably into the sound of her voice. It had lost that shaky edge, and sounded as clear and as confident as before. Her face and shoulders seemed completely relaxed too, and it blinked back sudden and inexplicable tears, so happy to see her comfortable; at peace.

"Henry?" She paused.

"Nothing, Babe. You just look beautiful." He shrugged his shoulders and she ducked her head blushing.

"Really, stuffing my face with Chinese food? You might still be sleep-deprived buddy."

"Nope. Well, I might be, but that doesn't change anything. You're gorgeous. You know it too." He winked at her.

"Alright, crazy man." She shook her head at him. "Oh, we've got a state dinner next week. I kept forgetting to tell you about it. And it's going to be just awful, too. I'm not going to lie."

"Will you be there?" He asked, smiling up at her.

"Of course. I'm the guest of honor." She glanced at him perplexed.

"Well, it will be perfect then." He winked at her. She shook her head at him again, and he felt a strange happiness settle in his heart. It wasn't as if there wouldn't be hard days ahead. She still carried the effects of Iran, as did he. The threat of a future beyond their control still loomed over him. But, somehow, he felt better - of course he always felt better when they were together and talking. Even when they fought, it was better than dark, confusing silence. He relaxed against the chair listening to the musical sound of her voice, content that they would manage things as they had before Iran. Together they could manage even, after.


End file.
